


Magia Radiant

by thisjustout



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Rebellion Story, at least one archive warning will eventually apply, romance is secondary to the main plot, zero knowledge of Stormlight is required
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisjustout/pseuds/thisjustout
Summary: It’s apotheosis or bust.





	1. The First Ideal

**Author's Note:**

> No knowledge of the Stormlight Archive is required to understand this fic.

_**Wake up.** _

Madoka opened her eyes. A brown spot on the ceiling greeted her—a piece of mold, or chipped-away paint, or something. The first hints of dawn shone through the blinds.

“What a strange dream,” she whispered.

She had been…high. Above the Earth, above everything. She’d cupped the entire world, small and fragile, in her hands. And the whole time she’d felt a deep, intimate connection with everyone, from her classmates, to her parents, to the tiniest of insects. It had all felt oddly familiar.

Madoka made no move to get out of bed. Slowly, she watched the bedroom fill with light: faded green wallpaper, giant stuffed animals, cluttered desk, dusty ceiling light. Ambiguous brown spot.

Just like yesterday, and the day before, Madoka felt smothered by a sense of pure _nothingness._ Not sadness or despair, just lack. Why get out of bed? What was the point?

_**There’s always a point.** _

Madoka rolled over in bed and buried her face in a pillow.

Had her life always been this way? She couldn’t remember anything else, couldn’t remember a “before.” Yet the nothingness felt foreign—as if it had invaded her body, chewed away at _something,_ and left her a broken husk.

With significant effort, Madoka finally got up to answer the call of nature.

On her way back, she passed by the garden. Her father knelt among the vegetable bed, plucking newly ripe tomatoes. She’d never liked the fruit herself, but perhaps she could bring one to school to share with…

Madoka saw something in the corner of her eye, a twisting, slithering motion—but when she looked toward the back of the garden, everything was still. She dismissed it as a trick of the light.

“Good morning, Madoka!” her dad called.

“Morning, Dad!” She smiled automatically; she might have forgotten how to be happy, but she hadn’t forgotten how to fake it. “Is Mom up yet?”

“No, but I think Tatsuya is trying to wake her up.”

Madoka nodded. “I’ll go help.”

Tatsuya had crawled onto their mother’s bed, where he now pounded his fists and babbled away. Junko lay firmly face-down, head buried in her pillow, ignoring him. Madoka did the only thing she knew would work: she yanked back the curtains, letting the sunlight pour in—except no sunlight did. It was cloudy.

Junko let out a grunt, but didn’t otherwise stir.

Madoka sighed. She leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, feeling herself deflate. That was all it took, apparently—one small setback, and she felt like giving up. How in the world would she make it through school today?

Tatsuya looked up at the window, confused, then back at Junko. He’d seen Madoka pull her stunt with the curtains before; he must be wondering why it hadn’t worked just now. Madoka happened to catch her brother’s gaze. She looked into those curious, innocent eyes for a minute…

Then she waggled her finger, beckoning.

Tatsuya cocked his head.

“Come here,” she whispered. “I have a secret.”

Tatsuya crawled eagerly over Junko’s sleeping form, prompting another muffled grunt.

Madoka got up and leaned in close to the bed, putting her lips right up to Tatsuya’s ear. It didn’t feel right to let him suffer on account of her malaise. So she whispered, “Mama is ticklish on the back of her legs,” in the most conspiratorial tone she could muster.

Tatsuya’s entire face lit up. He looked back and forth between Madoka and Junko, as if asking for permission. Madoka nodded. So he attacked.

Junko screeched and flailed. Tatsuya laughed, delighted with his new power. Then before Madoka even knew what had happened, Junko had the upper hand: Tatsuya was upside down in his mother’s clutches, and it was his turn to get tickled.

“Oh no you don’t!” Junko’s voice was playful despite her obvious exhaustion. “You don’t get to sneak up on _me_ like that.”

“Stop, stop!” Tatsuya giggled.

Madoka left quietly, unnoticed.

She made her way back to her room, trying to hold back tears. She collapsed onto her bed—the tears never came.

_What’s happening to me?_

Madoka had lain there for what felt like hours, but must have only been a few minutes, when a thought occurred to her. It felt almost external to her mind, like a mental prod.

**_Find the Words._ **

She glanced at her desk. Maybe writing down her thoughts would help; among the clutter of textbooks and unwashed dishes lay her diary, which she hadn’t used in ages.

Madoka sat down at her desk and opened the book to its last entry: _Excited to come back to Japan after all these years! Can’t wait to make new friends!!_ It was dated just five months ago, yet she couldn’t remember penning it. Come to think of it, she could barely remember anything about the States.

She picked up her pen.

 _I know what’s important,_ Madoka wrote. _If every morning is like this, if I wake up surrounded by people who love me, then maybe I can be_

Be what? Happy?

Madoka crossed it out and tried again.

_Something is wrong. I’m not who I am. There’s a piece of me missing, and I can’t remember what it looks like or how I lost it, but I have to get it back._

That felt closer to the truth. She kept writing.

_I want to be like them. Like Mom and Dad and Tatsuya. I want to be whole again. I want to be normal._

That almost felt like enough. Madoka almost put the pen down. But nine more words sprang into her mind—three groups of three, like a little poem. She wrote out the characters with great care, feeling that, somehow, these words mattered a great deal; that she was making a promise.

“Madoka, breakfast!” came her dad’s voice from downstairs.

“Coming!”

Madoka finished writing, put down her pen, and took a deep breath. For some reason, the world felt a little less wrong. She almost smiled.

§

Black feathers swirled around Homura, random trees burst into flame as she walked by, and water turned to blood—all told, nothing out of the ordinary.

Why, then, did she feel such an awful sense of foreboding? Her eyes darted back and forth as she made her way to school.

“Hey!”

Homura turned quickly—but it was just Kyouko, running to catch up with her.

She fell into step beside Homura. “Morning!”

Yes, it was morning. On a whim, Homura had set the sun and moon into motion again, bringing a bit of structure to this otherwise shapeless reality. It had been…six days? Seven? She’d already lost count.

“Good morning, Kyouko,” Homura said stiffly. She tried to keep her distance from the other magical girls, but Kyouko’s overtures toward friendship had been persistent. And the girl seemed harmless. Mostly.

“You look jumpy,” Kyouko said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

The look of concern on Kyouko’s face was incredible. Homura had only even known her as selfish, even outright self-obsessed. But now, it seemed, she really did care about Homura’s well-being.

They turned a corner onto the main road. The spires of Mitakihara Middle School suddenly became visible in the distance—much more suddenly than physics should have allowed.

“Did you get a chance to do the English homework?” Kyouko asked.

Homura sighed. “I take it you didn’t.”

“Aha, yeah.” Kyouko scratched the back of her head, looking sheepish. “I was kind of…busy last night. Lemme copy?”

“Busy with your new girlfriend, I assume?”

“Something like that.” Kyouko blushed. “Hey, we’re not…um, you know—” She made a loud, obviously fake cough. “Our relationship isn’t _closed._ If you ever wanted to…with me, I mean…see a movie sometime? Together? Just the two of us, I mean, not all three—unless you wanted…“

Homura blinked. Was Kyouko _flirting_ with her?

Of course she would say no. In fact, part of her wanted to reach inside Kyouko’s mind, erase the memories of this conversation and whatever shred of attraction or whimsy had compelled it, and send the girl on her way.

But no, no, that would be ridiculous. Homura turned to Kyouko, the beginnings of a rejection on her lips—except Kyouko wasn’t looking at her anymore. Homura followed her gaze…ah, there. One of the Clara Dolls lay reclining upon a car parked just a few meters away, staring at the girls with its bulging blue eyes.

For a few heartbeats, Kyouko looked directly at the Doll. It flashed a wicked smiled, too-white teeth glimmering despite the shade.

Then she looked away.

Homura supressed a smile. Other people’s obliviousness to the workings of this world never failed to entertain her. She’d designed it this way, of course—normal people didn’t need to know that their universe had been drenched in witch’s magic. So even though reality now folded in upon itself, even though the stuff of nightmares walked about in broad daylight, Homura made sure that no one ever noticed.

Kyouko jerked her thumb back in the direction of the Doll. “So like, you can see that, right? I’m not going crazy?”

Homura froze mid-step. “I—”

“Okay, I thought so.” Kyouko gulped. “So do we call the police, or…?”

Homura felt herself beginning to panic—an emotion she quickly swallowed. Panic was unnecessary. Apparently Kyouko was stronger than Homura had given her credit for, but it didn’t matter; in a few seconds, she’d forget all about this encounter. Homura reached deep within herself, drew on her magic, and—

Nothing.

Homura’s breath caught in her throat.

Her powers were _gone._

**“Yes. This is true.”**

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, from behind, inside, and all around Homura. Her vision reeled; she nearly collapsed.

“Uh…Homura?” Kyouko said.

The Doll had gotten off the car; it was walking right toward them. Still grinning.

 _I’m going to die,_ Homura thought, looking into those dead eyes. _I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to—_

 _“Homura?”_ Kyouko grabbed her arm and tugged. The Doll was within spitting distance.

Something snapped inside Homura. And time froze.

§

A heartbeat. Loud. Hers. When was the last time she’d heard that? Breathing. Heavy. Also hers. By instinct, Homura tried to summon her magical girl costume. Nothing happened.

“Don’t let go,” she said, remembering that Kyouko had grabbed her arm. “If you let go, time will stop for you as well.”

She’d almost forgotten about her temporal magic. Why bother freezing time when reality bends to your will? When you can wipe people’s memories, rearrange their bodies, turn back the rotation of the Earth itself? When you’ve been living in the same twisted world so long that “time” has lost its meaning? But right now, Homura had never felt more grateful for her boring old time powers.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” Kyouko squeezed Homura’s arm so tight she thought it might pop off.

“I don’t know,” Homura lied. She pitched her voice, trying to affect fear and uncertainty. “I don’t know how I did that, or how I know that you shouldn’t let go. I just do.” She gestured to the time-frozen Doll. “I don’t know what that _thing_ is.”

Kyouko eyed her. But if she thought Homura was lying, she didn’t say anything.

All she said was, “Well, let’s fucking get away from it.”

Neither spoke as they kept walking toward the school, although Kyouko kept holding Homura’s arm in a death grip. It had been so long since Homura had used these powers, she’d almost forgotten what they felt like; around them, the world existed in muted color, almost monochrome, and stayed absolutely silent. They passed by a few more impossibilities—a dog with no face, crayon drawings suspended in midair, and a bicyicle that stretched for three blocks—but Kyouko didn’t seem to notice.

 _She didn’t notice me,_ Homura realized. _The feathers or the blood-river or the flaming trees. Only the Doll._

That was weird. Normally whenever…someone…learned the truth of this world, it happened all at once. But Kyouko seemed none the wiser for having noticed the Clara Doll.

“We should go somewhere people won’t see us,” Homura said when they finally arrived on school grounds. “Or it will look like we just appeared out of thin air.”

Kyouko nodded. Early as it was, a few students were already there, waiting for the main doors to open. Homura saw Hitomi among them, standing alone, an anxious expression on her face. Madoka, unfortunately, hadn’t arrived yet.

They walked around the school building, trying every door until they found one unlocked.

“So you know how to make everything start moving again?” Kyouko asked.

“Yes.” Homura closed to the door, then turned to faced Kyouko. “Before we go back out there, I just wanted to say…um, yes. To your question earlier. I’d love to see a movie sometime.”

A sudden smile flashed across Kyouko’s face—not the coy smile Homura had come to expect from her, but a genuine, unfiltered expression of happiness—and her grip on Homura’s arm loosened.

Homura kicked her in the stomach.

Kyouko tumbled backward, freezing in midair the second she let go, her face a mixture of shock and anger.

Homura lingered only a moment. She walked back outside, then away from the school, using the route that Madoka normally took. The walk turned into a jog, then a sprint; for some reason, Homura felt that she couldn’t rely on her magic for much longer.

Sure enough, the world soon burst into color and motion of its own accord. She let herself collapse in the middle of a street—an empty street, fortunately—trying to catch her breath. She’d put a bit of distance between herself and the middle school, but she still hadn’t found Madoka.

 _Let her be okay,_ she thought. _Please, just let Madoka be okay._

For the first time, Homura allowed to herself to wonder how, exactly, she’d lost control of this universe. Had Madoka reclaimed her powers? Taken the Law of Cycles back while Homura wasn’t looking? It seemed unlikely; Homura had put a number of safeguards in place. But it wasn’t impossible. Her heart sank at the thought of Madoka taking on the mantle of godhood again.

But no, Madoka would have changed things back immediately. Homura’s nightmare world still marched on—she’d simply lost control of it.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that there could only be one answer.

Homura lifted her head. “Incubator! What did you do!”

No response.

“I know you’re listening! _Incubator!”_

**“Not quite.”**

The voice rang out, again, from everywhere at once. It was familiar, Homura realized. Shrill. Mocking. The laughter at the end of the world.

A pattern appeared on the pavement in front of her: twisting, impossible geometries, like a witch’s labyrinth in two dimensions. Homura flinched back; she lacked the strength, however, to run away.

The pattern extended upward, black lines gradually taking the shape of a body. It was human-sized and mostly human-shaped, though lacking arms. A billowing blue cloak extended down from the neckline, trimmed with white lace, and a matching collar extended upward. The face…well, instead of a face, that same twisting, impossible pattern hovered in midair.

“Come with me, Miss Akemi. We have much to discuss,” said Walpurgisnacht. The voice no longer roared inside Homura’s mind, but it still carried the authority of a queen.

§

Just this once, Madoka left for school at a reasonable time. She let herself walk slowly, trying to appreciate the pleasantries of late spring—breeze, birdsong, blooming flowers. It was even warm, despite the grey skies. It almost felt as if the perfect day had been crafted just for…

Just for…

Wait. Was that tree on _fire?_

Yes, those were flames licking up the sides of the trunk. It didn’t look too bad for now, but the tree was gigantic; it could easily hurt someone or damage something if it fell down. Madoka quickly took her phone from her bag and dialed emergency services.

As she described the fire to the operator, she almost didn’t hear the quiet meow. She almost didn’t realize it was coming from the tree. Almost didn’t gasp in horror, almost didn’t look frantically about for someone to help, almost didn’t learn, to her dismay, that she was on her own.

“Miss? Miss?” came the operator’s voice. “Where’s this tree located?”

“Main Street and, um…Fifth.” Madoka’s eyes were glued to the cat: a tiny little lump of black fur sitting in one of the highest branches. No collar. “Please hurry! There’s someone stuck up there!”

“What? You didn’t mention that earlier!”

“Sorry. I just noticed it. There’s a kitten high up in the bran—”

“Oh, okay.” The operator’s tone completely changed, all urgency gone from her voice. “We should have a truck over there in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen, depending on traffic. They’ll have a ladder. Keep away from the tree, okay? We don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Y-yes. Of course.” Madoka hung up.

She hurried toward the tree, trying to position herself under the cat. “Here…kitty!” she called, reaching upward with both arms.

The kitten didn’t move; it just let out another quiet mewl. Perhaps that was for the best. It sat a good nine or ten meters from the ground; even if it did jump, Madoka wasn’t sure she could catch it.

But the fire was spreading steadily outwards. It might reach the cat before the firefighters did.

Madoka felt angry all of a sudden—angry at the whole world. She’d moped away her morning despite being safe and fed and loved, while this poor cat would die in obscurity. Nobody would remember the kitten after it died. Nobody would ever show it love. Nobody would _care._

_Life before death._

The poem from Madoka’s diary ran through her head. Before she had time to think, she’d grabbed the lowest branch.

_Strength before weakness._

What did it even mean? The words had come to Madoka unthinkingly, as if they’d always been a part of her.

_Journey before destination._

Madoka shifted her weight with painstaking care. Every step up presented a new danger; many of the branches had begun to catch fire now, and all of them felt as if they might snap under her weight. Slowly, carefully, she climbed toward the kitten.

“Don’t look down,” Madoka told herself. She’d made good progress in a short time. Just a bit more effort and she’d be there. “Don’t look down, don’t look, don’t— _ah!”_

The branch snapped in her hands; Madoka fell backward, groped blindly behind her. She screamed and pulled in her hand back by reflex, but the pain came anyway. She’d stuck her hand directly into the flames.

Madoka ended up stomach-down, arms and legs wrapped around the branch she’d just been standing on. Her eyes stung with tears. She couldn’t think, couldn’t see—the pain in her hand demanded all her attention.

_Have to move. The fire…_

Shaking, Madoka forced herself to her knees. The branch above her might have collapsed, but there was another one off to the side and a little farther up. Madoka reached for it with her unburned hand, using it to steady herself as she stood up.

The cat was just a meter away. It looked down at her, meowing frantically.

“Come on!” she called, trying to keep her voice cheerful. Trying to ignore the pain—and the sickening sight of her burn—as she stretched her hand toward the cat. “Come here! It’s okay!”

But it didn’t move.

“Please! I can’t reach you anymore! You need to jump.” Madoka watched the fire creep ever closer. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Come here, kitty! Come here! _Please._ ”

The fire flared suddenly, sending out sparks. A few of them landed on the kitten. It yelped and jumped backward—right into the open air.

_No, no, NO!_

With a sudden, unexpected surge of strength, Madoka leaped forward. She grabbed the kitten out of midair with both hands, holding it tight against her chest as they fell.

§

“What you’re saying doesn’t make sense,” Homura said, leaning forward in her chair. If this was all a trick by Kyube, then it was the strangest, most convoluted one he’d ever pulled. “‘Surgebinding,’ ‘spren’…the Incubators have never done anything like this. Or Madoka, or me. It sounds made-up.”

Homura had brought Walpurgisnacht back to her apartment, rather than—as the witch had originally suggested—an abandoned theater. Holographic screens plastered the room, connected to cameras all over the city. They offered little comfort; Madoka was still nowhere in sight.

“I can assure you it is real.” Walpurgisnacht stood perfectly still, save the constant twisting of her symbol-shaped head. “As a Cryptic of the highest—”

“You’re a _witch,_ ” Homura corrected. “You made a stupid wish that you eventually came to regret, you got duped by an emotionless alien, and now you’re doomed to an eternity of suffering.”

A few seconds passed in silence. “Yes,” Walpurgisnacht said eventually. “This is also true.” She cleared her throat—or, well, it sounded like she cleared her throat. She didn’t appear to have an actual throat. “In addition to being a witch, however, I am a Cryptic. We have a natural affinity for the truth. I am a very bad liar, Miss Akemi.”

Homura snorted. “Forgive my skepticism.”

“I am bonded to you.” Walpurgisnacht’s voice stayed mostly neutral, though it carried the faintest hint of a sneer. “If this partnership is to work, you _must_ trust me.”

“And what if I don’t want to be ‘bonded’? You made my life a living hell.” The screens changed suddenly: instead of present-day Mitakihara, they showed snippets of Homura’s tireless battle across time. She had never killed Walpurgisnacht, not even at the very end.

“Forgive my saying so, Miss Akemi,” the witch said, “but I do not believe you have much choice. You may dismiss me if you’d like, forsaking your new powers. But I am certain your old abilities will not return. The Shard—rather, the power you call the Law of Cycles—it no longer governs this world. You would go back to being mortal. Defenseless. Given what is coming to this world, I do not think this is wise.”

Homura buried her face in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut. Why, _why_ did this have to end? Why couldn’t it have just…stayed this way? Forever?

“Five oaths,” she finally said.

“Yes.”

“And every time I swear a new oath, I grow more powerful.”

“This is true.”

“What if I change my mind?” Homura asked.

“If you betray your oaths,” Walpurgisnacht said, “you will lose your new powers. And I will die.”

“Wait—what?” Homura sat up suddenly. Walpurgisnacht probably wasn’t telling the truth, but neither did she seem to be _deliberately_ lying. “You’d put your life in my hands?”

“Of course,” Walpurgisnacht said. “I would not have chosen you if I thought you would betray me, Miss Akemi.”

Homura pursed her lips. “All right. Fine. You win. It’s true; I don’t want to be powerless again. Tell me the first oath.”

“No. When you are ready, the Words will come.” Walpurgisnacht stepped—or maybe glided—closer. Her robes didn’t so much as rustle. “Look within yourself, Miss Akemi. Why do you fight?”

“I fight for Madoka,” Homura said automatically.

“No. Go deeper than that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“ _No,_ ” Walpurgisnacht said more forcefully. Then she added, “Try closing your eyes. It’s been known to help.”

Homura sighed, but did as she was told. She leaned back into her chair, closed her eyes, and tried to block out the noise around her. A wave of her hand turned the lights off.

_Why do you fight?_

Images flashed before her eyes: Madoka laughing and smiling among her school friends. Madoka embracing Homura in a field of flowers, promising never to abandon her again. Madoka lying in the wake of Walpurgisnacht’s devastation, holding up her Soul Gem with weak arms, begging Homura to kill her. The cold, lifeless eyes of the Incubator as he ripped Madoka’s soul from her body over, and over, and _over_ again. And…the look of anger and betrayal frozen on Kyouko’s face, when Homura had left her back at the school.

Homura inhaled sharply.

“Life before death,” she whispered. “Strength before weakness. Journey before destination.”

Power surged through her veins. She jumped out of her chair, suddenly compelled to move, to _act._ Her muscles had been sore from running, but now they felt fine. More than fine. She felt as if she could sprint for miles. As if she could jump ten times her height. She felt invigorated. _Alive._

“Welcome, Homura Akemi,” Walpurgisnacht said, “to the Knights Radiant.”

§

Madoka thought she heard something crack when her body hit concrete. But she didn’t feel any pain—not in her back, where she’d fallen, and not in her hand, which had been a wellspring of agony until just moments ago. In fact, the only thing she felt was hungry.

Madoka let go of the cat, who scampered off her chest. It didn’t seem to be injured. She sat up, blinking back the black spots in her vision.

Her stomach growled. She wasn’t just hungry, but _famished._

Just a few blocks away was a convenience store; if she could make it…

_**Madoka, please focus.** _

Nope. No sense trying focus on an empty stomach.

_**Our task is urgent.** _

Madoka half-walked, half-stumbled to the store with all the urgency that such a task demanded of her. She grabbed an onigiri off the shelves, quickly unwrapped it, and shoved it into her mouth.

Oh sweet, _sweet_ sustenance. She ate another, and another, and started on a fourth—

“Hey! You’ve gotta pay for those!”

Madoka glanced up at the shopkeeper, a large, middle-aged man. He was scowling at her from behind the counter.

“I’m sow sowry!” Madoka said through a mouthful of rice. She pulled her wallet out of her schoolbag, swallowed the last of the food, and started counting bills. “How much?”

The shopkeeper snatched the money from Madoka’s hand without a word. She left the store biting her lip and blushing deeply.

No longer too hungry to think straight, Madoka suddenly realized something: her hand wasn’t burned.

_How on Earth…_

Madoka _had_ burned her hand, hadn’t she? That wasn’t the kind of pain one could mistake for something else.

But before she could dwell on it further, something down the street caught her eye. A strange-looking vine grew on one of the buildings: dark green and sprawling, it bore a plethora of large, maroon roses. The flowers looked familiar, somehow. As if from a past life, or a dream half-remembered. Madoka found herself drawn to them. The vines, she realized, had been arranged in the shape of a face. She imagined that she could almost hear it speaking.

_**Oh, child. Wake up soon, will you? Things are about to get very bad, very quickly. And the world so desperately needs your help.** _


	2. Edgedancer

Madoka looked slowly over the round lunch table, gazing at each girl in turn. Four of the eight stools were filled. The loud din of several hundred middle schoolers filled the room, but her companions were silent, lost in their own thoughts. Nobody wanted the tomato.

Kyouko sat to Madoka’s right, an empty stool between them. Kyouko had refused the tomato. She didn’t want “that garbage” because it apparently “tastes like shit.” But maybe Kyouko was just angry and lashing out. She scowled at her food as she attacked it. Maybe she really did like tomatoes, and she was just angry.

Hitomi sat right next to Kyouko, no space between them. Hitomi had refused the tomato. She’d given no reason. Hitomi was distracted: her eyes darted up, down, around, and basically anywhere that wasn’t Kyouko. Maybe she did like tomatoes, and she was just too distracted to say so. Maybe the lovers were quarreling.

Mami sat next to Hitomi, across from Madoka. Mami had refused the tomato. She smiled as she did so, with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m not really a tomato person, but thanks.” The twinkle, Madoka now realized, was a tear on the verge of escaping. Maybe Mami did like tomatoes, but she was too sad to—no, that didn’t make sense.

The two stools between Mami and Madoka were overgrown with thick, thorny green vines, shaped vaguely into a face, upon which bloomed large purple roses.

 _Do you want a tomato?_ Madoka asked without speaking.

 ** _Child_** —the creature’s vine-lips moved as it spoke, but not in any way that made sense— ** _you really have more important things to be doing right now than antagonizing me._**

“Kyouko,” Madoka said, turning away from the plant. “I have a question—but it’s kind of weird, so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Kyouko glanced up from her meal, a piece of melon bread suspended between her teeth. _You have my attention. Don’t waste it,_ said her frozen expression.

“I know that your family is religious, and I was curious about…” Madoka braced herself, just a little. “Divine intervention, I guess.” _And demons._

Kyouko swallowed everything in her mouth with a single gulping motion. “Why? Hoping for a miracle?” And she immediately turned back to her food, stabbing at her plate with a pair of chopsticks.

“It’s just, I’m curious if you’ve ever heard of anything, um, actually happening. You know, like miracles and other things that couldn’t be explained.“

“Yeah,” Kyouko said, still stabbing. “Of course.”

“Oh. Like…healing?”

“Sure.” She kept eating.

Mami had been looking on at the conversation with interest, and at that moment she interrupted. “What brought on this question, Kaname?”

“The reason I’m asking is because, well, I burned my hand pretty badly this morning. But it’s not burned anymore. And the same thing with my back. I fell out of a tree, and I thought I heard it snap, but I guess it didn’t.”

Kyouko looked up sharply. “What happened?“

“That’s basically it.” Madoka deliberately didn’t look at the tangle of vines directly across the table from Kyouko, which apparently no one but Madoka could see.

“Tell me what happened!” Kyouko leaned forward out of her seat, hands on the table, face inches from Madoka’s.

Madoka couldn’t help but let out a little _eep_ , and she immediately felt silly. It was just Kyouko. But then, she didn’t know anything about her friends. They let her sit at their lunch table. They were nice to her. But they were barely acquaintances. Kyouko could be a serial killer, for all Madoka knew.

“Calm down.” Hitomi placed her hand gently on Kyouko’s elbow, but she spoke in scolding tones.

Kyouko’s attention swiveled away from Madoka and toward Hitomi. Madoka braced herself for the inevitable fight.

Sure enough: “What’s your deal?”

“You’ve been miserable all day. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter!”

“That’s obviously not true.”

“Like you’d know.”

Madoka kept her eyes glued to her lunch, or what remained of it: a whole tomato, bright red, harvested this morning from her father’s garden. Brighter than anything she’d seen in a grocery store. Round, plump, probably juicy.

From nowhere a headache assaulted her. She put her face into her hands, squeezing her eyes shut, watching the blobs of color fade across her vision. The ache vanished.

Madoka had tried putting the pieces together. A broken soul, an unburned hand, a speaking plant. She’d tried putting the pieces together, but they didn’t fit. Worse: They defied examination. The harder she thought, the fuzzier everything felt.

She opened her eyes again. The headache returned. She closed them. No headache. Open, headache; closed, gone. This wasn’t, she had gathered, how headaches worked for most people.

Nothing made sense. But she knew—she _knew_ —that one of her school friends liked tomatoes. This fact, this conviction, anchored her to the world.

**_Child._ **

Open, shut; open, shut.

Normally the headache went away after a minute or two, but this one persisted. Worsened. She could hear veins in her skull pulsing. And then her ears went fuzzy. The din of the dining hall faded, as did Hitomi’s quiet sobbing; everything sounded quiet, muted. Almost underwater.

“We just…I don’t know. It wasn’t serious at first, we would just…sometimes, but I…wanted a relationship. And I thought she…I thought she…”

“Kaname?” Mami’s voice sounded miles away.

**_Child?_ **

Mami held up a hand, and Hitomi grew quiet. “Kaname? Are you all right? You look sick.”

Kyouko had stormed off a while ago. The table felt small with just the three of them. Too small. Like it wasn’t just Kyouko missing.

Madoka shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut once more. She was probably just forgetting someone that she’d known in America. She was always forgetting things. Mixing things up. She couldn’t trust

**_Something is wrong._ **

“Kaname?” Mami

Darkness crept in at the edge of Madoka’s

vision she tried

_Hair the sun_

to stand

_reflects just_

to shake the

_so the laughter her_

off the

_eyes, so_

to reach for

**_Your memory is being—_ **

_close_

door

_a kiss_

§

Kaname stood up woozily—and then immediately collapsed, her head bouncing like a volleyball off the tiled lunchroom floor. Mami froze, seized by an image of Kaname’s head rolling away, decapitated.

The premonition lasted all of a second. Kaname was _not_ decapitated. She’d simply fainted. Everything was _fine_.

Relatively fine.

“Get a teacher,” Mami yelled to no one in particular as she knelt by the girl’s side. Shizuki rushed off to obey. “Kaname? Are you okay?” Mami shook her gently. Was that the right thing to do? Hadn’t she heard somewhere that one ought not touch an unconscious person? She stopped shaking.

Kaname grunted without opening her eyes.

Mami glanced up. Nagisa’s spindly form circled the two of them, floating through the air like a lazy balloon. Eyes pointed downward, teeth bared, grinning.

 _Not Nagisa,_ Mami reminded herself.

§

Homura dashed along the pavement, nearly keeping pace with the cars beside her. She’d been sprinting almost an hour now—and she never got tired, never ran out of breath. Wasn’t even breathing.

“How do you feel?” asked Walpurgisnacht. She floated alongside Homura—though her robes stayed perfectly still, giving the witch an appropriately otherworldly appearance.

“Hungry.” As Homura spoke, some of the power—Walpurgisnacht called it _Stormlight_ —escaped her lips in little white wisps. Homura felt a tiny bit of her vitality escape with it.

“Hmm…yes. This is true. Yet you have already eaten today.”

Homura frowned. She kept running. “Do you not know anything about human diets?” More Stormlight escaped her lips. Much more stayed inside her. At the end of the block, vehicles rushed past along a main road—four lanes of traffic.

“I do. It’s just…” Walpurgisnach sounded worried, or perhaps contemplative. “Would you say that you are _unusually_ hungry, Miss Akemi?”

Part of Homura’s brain told her to slow, stop, wait for the light to turn. But the power, the Stormlight, the _tempest_ raged against her body, threatened to split her in two. It _demanded_ to be used. Slow down? How absurd.

Homura jumped.

First came the sensation of a collision. It knocked her over, sent her flying across the road and landing flat on her face.

Then came the sounds. Brakes screeching, horns beeping, the “Holy shit, are you okay?” and “What the hell happened?” from onlookers. All the while, Homura felt her body rearranging itself—an unfamiliar sensation, though it must have happened a million times by now—broken bones and misplaced organs falling back into place.

Homura stared up at the face of a middle-aged man who looked very, very concerned. The driver, probably. Next to him hovered Walpurgisnacht, invisible to all eyes but Homura’s.

“Are you okay? You look okay. A miracle! How are you feeling? You aren’t talking. _Say something,_ dammit, I’m—”

“I do feel unusually hungry,” Homura said, jumping to her feet, “now that you mention it.”

§

Kaname’s eyes blinked awake mere seconds later.

“I will remember those who have been forgotten.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, and she spoke to no one in particular—at least, not to Mami. Her eyes were too distant.

Mami tried to press a bottle of water into Kaname’s hands. The girl refused, batting away the water and forcing herself to stand, looking just as unsteady as before. Pushed her way past the crowd of gawking students. Out of the lunchroom, out of the school.

Mami’s heart skipped a beat when Not-Nagisa bolted after Kaname. But the _thing,_ the creature, paused, turned expectantly toward Mami, as if asking for permission.

“Stay,” Mami whispered. “Leave her alone. Please.”

Ten heartbeats. She counted ten awful, agonizing heartbeats while the creature stayed perfectly still. At last it slunk back toward Mami, away from the open door.


End file.
